


i live to let you shine

by freloux



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Height Differences, Kissing, Neck Kissing, Pillow & Blanket Forts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blanket fort ridiculousness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i live to let you shine

**Author's Note:**

> The amazingly talented [RandomThunk](http://www.randomthunk.tumblr.com) drew [fanart](http://randomthunk.tumblr.com/post/138974317171) of this!
> 
> I am honestly verklempt at the response to this piece. <3

There are a septillion stars in the visible universe. There are twice as many planets. Clara is certain they've seen them all by now, which is why she suggests that they build their own planet instead. Her dark eyes glitter. "Where are you going?" he asks. She grabs his hand and drags him down the hall. "Come _on_ , you silly man. We'll need fuel for the journey first."

"Don't go too far," he says, concerned, as she retreats further away into the depths of the kitchen. "Why?" she asks, voice tiny. She's already half-disappeared into the pantry.

"I - I want to be able to find you again."

When she returns, he hovers around her as she measures, whisks, stirs over low heat. Their bodies curve together and apart as they move together around the kitchen, a bit like the strands of a double helix.

They slurp hot chocolate together, kicking their feet against the kitchen chairs. Comiserating about this, that and the other. He will be her boyfriend, her husband, her partner, her lover. Whatever she wants. Whatever she needs. His invincibility has turned into fragility; she's so warm-hearted it's expanded his own capacity for joy, and he's grateful for that. There's a truth about him that only she knows: he's shy. He can come off as arrogant but really he's just withdrawn. Sometimes he needs his space. With her, though, he's at ease. He can hide with her and show her the extent of his personality that no one else gets to see. She's his polestar now.

Once they're finished, he tosses their mugs into the sink. They'll turn up washed eventually. Takes the pain out of having to do chores.

Clara heads down another set of hallways in search of... "It was here just yesterday, I know it -" The TARDIS is evidently feeling cooperative for once, so it doesn't take her long to find what she was looking for. It's a room full of pillows of all shapes and colours, both smaller and much larger than Clara is, along with a seemingly infinite number of blankets.

"What on earth are you doing?" the Doctor asks, coming up behind her and resting his chin on top of her head.  
"Making a blanket fort. Haven't you ever done that?"  
"No...?" he responds, as though she's described some bizarre alien custom.

She carries the supplies into the adjacent room. He's not remotely helpful, even though she's telling him what to do. Every time he makes a mistake, she gives him a kiss. (She soon suspects that he's doing this wrong on purpose.)

They eventually push some couches together, stretch a few sheets and blankets over them, and string up some lights that were found in a box at the back of a different closet somewhere, in amongst modems and routers and circuits that break. "There," Clara says, looking satisfied. "Done and dusted." She crawls inside to examine their handiwork. He crawls in after her and only makes a few comments about her hips - all of them admiring.

"Wait - I almost forgot - we need stories." She crawls back out, hurries into her room, and returns with a book of fairytales.

Clara sits between his legs, stretching hers out straight. His legs, so much longer than hers, go out further and almost reach the edge of their little hideout. She traces her fingertips up his thighs. Sheltered here in his arms, in the blanket fort, Clara feels like a boat come in to harbour. Warm and safe in their own private world. The comforting vibration of his voice, its rich plumminess so perfect for reading stories like this, invites her to settle back and just listen.

In the middle of reading, he pauses to kiss her neck. Clara laughs because it tickles, so then he kisses her properly. Just to shut her up, of course. The book, formerly cradled in her hands, slides out of her grasp and lands next to them with a thump. Her lips tingle as she catches each kiss. Clara leans against him, pressing in. It's quiet here, except for the steady rhythm of the ship underneath them and the soft wet noise of their mouths every time they meet. He puts his tongue to the edges of her mouth, along her lips as they part, then slides it in against hers. It's so much easier to kiss him when he's half-folded like this. Usually she has to stand on tiptoe and sometimes even that isn't enough. She'll tilt her head back, too, and get dizzy from a combination of headrush and hormones. Which is when he'll laugh and pick her up. He's stronger than he looks, given that he's so lanky. Perhaps it comes with two thousand years of experience. And she'll wind her legs around his waist to hold him tight, and she'll kiss him so hard that he'll nearly topple backwards.

This way, though, hidden here, they fit together neatly and kissing feels like a secret. Clara can kiss him as deeply as she wants. She explores his tongue, tasting the bitterness of the hot chocolate along with a trace of sweetness from the jelly babies that he was eating earlier. He lets out a little whimper that's muffled by the cushions around them.

Eventually he pulls back, his eyes a bit out of focus. "We should probably get back to the book."  
She strokes his face affectionately. "Only if you want."

Her lips feel puffy and a little used, post-kiss. It's a nice reminder of his presence and what he means to her. She smiles to herself as he continues reading. They reach the close of a story about a castle with things living inside its walls. The Doctor remarks that he's been there.  
"Really?" She cranes her neck so she can look back at him, incredulous.  
"Clara, you should know by now that most myths are true." She loves the way he says her name: something tiny and hopeful caught in the back of his throat. "Perhaps I can take you there tomorrow."  
"I'd like that."

The Doctor finishes reading and Clara yawns. She grabs a nearby blanket and, obliging as ever, he tucks her in. His duty of care compels him to make sure she's comfortable and will sleep well here, instead of in her own bed. "Of course I will. I'm next to you, after all." Her eyes are already falling shut, so he kisses her forehead and tells her a quiet goodnight.

He lies next to Clara and feels her body heat, listens to her breathing. He's lived through hundreds of stories and believes in thousands more. This particular tale, though - where she loves him, despite everything - is one he'd never thought he'd find himself living.


End file.
